Valentine Surprise
by LanaDrama
Summary: For Hermione, Valentine's Day was supposed to be another boring, lonely day … until she started to receive gifts from a mysterious stranger. Who can it be? More importantly, what does he want from her in return? Adult readers only, please.
1. Chapter 1: Anonymous Gifts

**A short, sweet, smutty Valentine's treat to all the Lumione fans. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

A miasma of snowflakes escaped from the streets and scattered itself across the entrance as Hermione crossed the marble lobby of the Ministry building towards the cafeteria. Her nose felt runny. From autumn through late spring, she always felt perpetually cold, and always managed to catch what seemed like an overlapping parade of colds, each one more dreadful than the last. She wished she hadn't forgotten to take her cloak with her as she scanned the room for Harry. He was already seated at a corner booth with their colleague, Gwen Thomas from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Harry waved at her when as she made her way over to their table.

"You look like you had a hard morning," Harry said as he looked her over.

"You would too. We are revising the exchange rate between Galleons and pounds. Percy and Lucius Malfoy are once again at each other's throats. The proposal to the Trade Commission has to be sent to the European Union of Magic by noon tomorrow. We hardly have a draft ready. I'm flying over the cuckoo's nest with those two," Hermione bitterly complained. "Now I have a headache. I think I'm coming down with something again."

"Lucius Malfoy? In your Department? When did that happen?" Gwen asked. "It's way too early for April Fool's jokes."

Hermione shrugged. "He's been there since New Year. He's a special consultant on international exchange rates. Go figure. He's very knowledgeable and highly qualified though. I just hate presiding over Weasley-Malfoy battle of wills."

"Well, I know something that might cheer you up," Harry said. "Ginny's match is on Friday, so she's officially free on Saturday to go to St. Mungo's benefit with us."

"That's good," she said as she carefully unwrapped her sandwich.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I can see how it cheers _you_ up, but how's it supposed to make her feel better?"

"Well, I figured since they didn't get to see each other over the holidays, well … I don't know."

"Of course, I'll be happy to see Ginny, but I don't think I want to go to this do," Hermione said between bites.

"Why not?" Gwen asked.

"I've been so tired lately that the perfect Valentine weekend for me would be to have be a quiet night in," she explained.

"But you promised to be my Plus One," Gwen whined. "It's a benefit, not a Valentine's Day love fest. We promised to go all go together. Now that Ginny can make it, you are my only option. Hermione, please, don't make me go alone. Two single witches showing up looks like happily unattached ladies sacrificing a date night for a worthwhile cause. One witch in a sea of couples looks sad and pathetic. Please, don't let me be the pitiful girl everyone stares at and wonders why she's still single."

Hermione laughed at her friend's theatrics. "Don't exaggerate. No one would really think that. People make too much of Valentine's this time of year. It's just another day."

"Yeah," Harry absentmindedly agreed. "It's not even a real holiday. If it didn't fall on the weekend, we wouldn't even get a day off."

"Exactly!"

"I know, but after being single for the second Valentine's in a row, I just want to experience the whole nine yards of Valentine extravaganza," Gwen said, staring off into space.

"Except in real life, it's not so extravagant," Hermione pointed out. "It's always cold. Traffic is terrible. Some kind of weather horror always happens on that day. If it doesn't then, something else will. My last Valentine's Day date was six years ago, and the fancy overpriced restaurant we went to was a complete disappointment. The fish was tasteless and dessert was bland. The love and seduction didn't happen because Ron got called away on an assignment at the last minute. And I don't even get the whole roses and diamonds thing. We cut out beautiful flowers and watch them die in vases. And why are people spending tons of money on jewelry that they will only wear on handful of occasions as though it's some kind of barometer of feelings?"

"Sounds like sour grapes," Gwen teased her, while Harry showed more interest in his plate than in their conversation.

"Yes, that's me," she agreed with Gwen. "But what do you expect when you've been starved of romance and seduction?"

Gwen grunted with disgust. "What do men nowadays know about that stuff? One day puts pressure on them, but back in my grandmother's day that sort of thing was expected throughout courtship."

"I've come to accept by now that some of us are not meant to experience that sort of thing, so there's no use lamenting it," Hermione conceded, getting up from the table. "Back to the grindstone for me. If you won't hear of any unfortunate accidents in the International Magical Cooperation Department then it means I had a good Monday."

She said her goodbyes and walked back to her office. A small package with red ribbon and a rose awaited her on the desk. Hermione picked it up and looked it over, thinking it must have been delivered to her on accident.

 _For Miss Hermione Granger_ , announced the elegant script on the top of the package. The handwriting didn't look familiar at all. As she traced the even, elegantly penned letters of her name, she felt a twinge of warmth glaze over her. Shaking off the strange feeling, she unwrapped the package. A silver bookmark fell onto her desk. Hermione looked it over, fingering the decorated orb at the top made of green vintage glass. Inside the glass a small phrase was inscribed, 'My weekend is all booked!'

 _What a thoughtful gift!_ Hermione thought and opened the note that fell besides it. She frowned as she stared at the cryptic message.

 _The blunder of bigotry and delusion must demand compensation. Please accept this small token of contrition._

No signature. No initials. Nothing to give any hint as to who the giver might be. The note itself didn't make any sense to her either. Contrition? She couldn't think of anyone who had wronged her. Certainly not enough to send a gift. And why do it so close to Valentine's Day? It didn't seem to be driven by romantic intentions … except the rose part, but that's just because it's so easily available this time of season, so then … why now? Odd way to apologize for … whatever it was.

Then it dawned on Hermione and she laughed at herself for taking this so seriously. It was obviously one of those Secret Cupid raffle that department did every year. Someone randomly draws the name of one of the colleagues and leaves them a secret gift on the week of Valentine's Day. If a person didn't guess who it was by the time the Valentine's Day arrived, then the Secret Cupid had to reveal him or herself.

Placing the rose in the vase, Hermione went on with her day. It was only when she was leaving that she realized something peculiar: she never placed her name in Secret Cupid draw.

* * *

"Come on, Harry," Hermione cajoled her friend as she caught up with him in the lobby as they were leaving for the day, "admit it: it was either you or Gwen."

He shook his head. "Seriously, it wasn't us." He handed her back the note. "I don't even know whose handwriting that is. Nobody in Auror office writes like that."

Hermione folded the note back into the pocket of her cloak. "Don't focus on the handwriting, that can be easily changed."

"Then your guess is as good as mine."

"But Harry, if it wasn't either one of you, then somebody put my name into the Secret Cupid raffle when I specifically said I didn't want to do it," Hermione persisted.

"It wasn't me. If somebody did put your name in it, you'll find out by Sunday," Harry explained, looking unconcerned.

Now she felt guilty. "But if it's a Secret Cupid thing, then somebody got passed over when my name got mixed in with others'. Should I let someone know?"

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Hermione. I'm sure whoever didn't get picked will survive the disappointment."

She looked over the note again. "I'm confused about something though. The flower is typical Secret Cupid stuff, but what about the note and the bookmark? The bookmark is too nice to give it away to some random co-worker. And the note lacks all the typical Valentine sentiments. The more I try to figure this out, the more confused I get."

Harry reached to his neck to adjust the scarf around his neck. "Hermione, you have to learn to just accept a gift for what it is. Don't analyze it so much. If they'll want you to know, they'll eventually tell you." He winked at her. "Maybe you have a secret admirer. Just enjoy it. As long as they don't give you a journal."

Gobsmacked, Hermione's curls nearly smacked her in the nose as she rapidly shook her head. "Girls like me don't get secret admirers."

"Yes, you do." He patted her on the arm. "You're an attractive and intelligent witch, Hermione. You don't need me to tell you that, and you always had plenty of admirers; you just don't notice them."

"But the note is an apology of sorts. I'm no expert in secret admirers, but isn't it usually more customary to talk about feelings than apologies?" she queried.

"I suppose so. At least they gave you something you like and can use. Or maybe it has nothing to do with Valentine's or Secret Cupid. Maybe they feel like they offended you somehow in the past and just now started to feel bad about it. Anyhow, I have to go to George's for supper or I'll be late."

"Go, go. Don't let me hold you up."

"Don't analyze it so much, Hermione. Just … see what happens. I can always test the bookmark to see if it has any traces of Dark Arts on it," he offered.

"No, no. It's okay. I'll take care of it," Hermione said before bidding him a good night.

The next day there was no gifts on her desk. But there was another red rose. With the short message in the same script: _True beauty is not measured in something that reflects, but rather it is measured in the way it affects._

Again no signature, but her heart started racing as she read the words over and over again. She added the rose to the vase next to the first one. The vivid crimson added a feminine touch to her office, and she was starting to see the appeal of what Gwen was talking about yesterday.

Who could be sending her these? It almost sounded as though somebody kept eavesdropping on her conversations but … who would want to do that?

Hermione didn't have time to dwell on it much longer because Percy Weasley's head soon popped in the door.

"I need about ten minutes of your time," he said.

"You have it," she told him and motioned for him to sit down.

Before she could ask him what his visited was regarding, he started speaking, "As a head of employee relations board, I'm obligated to let you know that I'm experiencing a problem with a certain new special consultant in our department."

 _Lucius Malfoy, no doubt._

Hermione suddenly cursed the fact that she volunteered for that leadership position. Usually, conflict resolutions in the work place were straight forward, but something told her that this wasn't going to be one of those cases.

"If you want to file a complaint, Percy, there are procedures that need to be followed, you know that," she said, reaching into her drawer to dig up an appropriate parchment.

"I tried to resolve it informally and it is no longer an option, so I'd like to file a complaint," he said.

"Can you tell me what's it about?" she asked, dipping her quill into the ink pot and posing it over the blank sheet.

"It involves corrective actions taken by Mr. Lucius Malfoy against a member of my staff."

Hermione had to force herself to suppress a groan of frustration. She just knew it involved him! Damn that wizard!

"What has he done now?" she wearily asked.

"Angelica made a minor error yesterday when she was translating our exchange rate proposal for the EUM's Trade Commission. She has made proper corrections and is taking a full responsibility for her actions," Percy hurriedly added.

There was no such thing as a minor error when it came to such documents, but Hermione didn't want to point out the obvious. What done is done.

"Go on," she prompted, hoping to get this over with quickly.

"Like I said, the error was caught almost immediately and Angelica sent out the corrected version right away last night," Percy continued to impatiently explain.

She frowned, tapping the feather of the quill impatiently against her desk. "Then I fail to see the problem. How is Mr. Malfoy involved?"

"He found out about it this morning and his behavior was very offensive. He was belligerent and threatened termination. As the deputy head of the department, it falls under my jurisdiction, not his. He is only here as a special consultant, not a permanent employee. He has no right to discipline my staff, especially not in public. It is against the Code of Conduct and I cannot allow such unprofessional behavior go unreported."

"I agree," Hermione said, carefully writing down his grievances before having him date and sign the document.

"You are aware that according to the procedures, I will need to speak to him as well," Hermione said, even though it was the last thing she wanted. Up to now, she managed to avoid direct contact with the Pure-blood wizard, which wasn't terribly difficult.

Percy nodded and left, freeing Hermione to sent out an office memo to Mr. Malfoy asking him to stop by her office at his earliest convenience. Swamped with paperwork, she continued with her day. As it got closer to noon, she decided to eat her sandwich at her desk, only to discover that she had forgotten her lunch. She'd have to go down to the cafeteria after all. Just as she was ready to leave, Lucius Malfoy appeared at her door.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at him in fascination and fear. He was shockingly, violently good-looking. _And his eyes!_ _His eyes!_

They were glacial gray — the coldest, deepest eyes she had ever seen. Their intensity was so potent that she shivered from their arctic blast. He froze her; she was a brittle and spent blade of summer grass caught up in winter's first frost. It was the first time he looked at her in a long time. For the first time in years his gaze was directed only at her, and Hermione shuddered under their predatory scrutiny. A primordial part of her brain was yelling at her to run, but she remained in the room.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he asked, wearing his trademark wry smirk as he strolled casually into her office.

"Yes, please, have a seat," she managed to squeak out, her teeth almost chattering under his austere gaze.

"Is this regarding that airhead that works for Weasley?"

Her expression carefully neutral, Hermione said, "Angelica, yes. And please, let's refrain from name-calling for the duration of our conversation."

"Did Weasley file a complaint? If so, you'll see that the ding-bat deserved to be reprimanded. If there's one thing I won't tolerate with anything associated with my name, it's incompetence."

Hermione held up her hand. "Mr. Weasley did file a report, which means I need to get your statement of the situation at hand. He feels that you breached the Code of Conduct and crossed certain professional lines with Angelica. No matter what mistakes are made, Mr. Malfoy, in the Ministry of Magic, we do not threaten people and certainly don't berate them in public. This is a professional environment where everyone is treated with respect, no matter what errors were made or how incompetent you may find them."

He briefly glanced at the roses on her desk, then disdainfully sneered as he responded again, "The Minister of Magic wanted my input on this proposal and everything that's associated with my name has to meet certain standards. Sloppy translating and record-keeping isn't one of them. Her carelessness reflects badly on us all. If the Minister has a problem with me or my methods, then he wouldn't have entrusted me with this endeavor."

"Mr. Malfoy, no one is saying that your criticism wasn't warranted—"

"Of course not, because I was right. If I wasn't, Weasley would have gone straight to his superior and not bothered some lowly bureaucrat with this task." He noted her offended expression and snidely added, "No offense."

"Right. But since you have no authority to terminate an employee, you have breeched Code of Conduct using such threats."

He pursed his lips. "While I don't have the official authority to terminate incompetent idiots, I _do_ have certain influence to make that happen. The statements I've made are not threats, but promises that may become a reality any time at my choosing."

Her stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl.

Lucius Malfoy pulled out his watch fob and checked the time. "You must have missed lunch, Miss Granger. It is getting closer to two."

She turned back to her stack of papers. "I forgot my lunch." She handed him a sheet of parchment. "I'll need you to write down your statement, then sign and date it at the end."

He ignored her statement. "Let's continue this discussion in the cafeteria then. It would be most unfortunate if you were to faint from hunger."

There was no arguing with his tone and Hermione reluctantly reached for her purse, and stood up. He tilted his head, indicating for her to exit the room first.

The cafeteria was nearly empty as the busy lunch wave had thinned out. Hermione picked up the tray, sliding it along the steel rails as she studied the limited lunch options. She selected a sandwich and a brownie. Lucius Malfoy stepped up next to her and slid his tray alongside hers.

"High fat. Empty calories," he said as he studied her choice of dessert before selecting a danish pastry for his own tray.

 _Hypocrisy alert!_

She ignored him and turned to pay for her food. As Hermione rummaged through her purse, she realized that in addition to her lunch, she had also forgotten her wallet.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath.

Mr. Malfoy reached over and handed over a few coins to the cashier.

"I'll pay you back," she promised, hating that she wasn't in a position to turn down his offer.

"I think I'll manage to survive without a few Sickles," he remarked.

Hermione chose one of the seats near the window. Mr. Malfoy paid for his lunch and positioned himself at a table directly across from her.

She sighed. "Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, you can sit with me, if you want."

He quickly moved to her table. His cocky grin told her he was pleased by her invitation.

Now she felt obligated to engage in small talk. Bringing up work seemed rude, so she mentally crossed out a list of work related topics.

"Did you have a nice Christmas holiday?" she finally asked.

 _Stupid question, Hermione!_ she silently chided herself. _Might as well ask him what his favorite color is._

"Tolerable enough," came his terse reply.

A tense silence settled between them.

His gaze leveled at her. "And what about you, Miss Granger? Any plans for Valentine's Day?"

She felt her skin grow warm in silent alarm and shook her head. "I'm going to the benefit on Saturday, but have no specific plans for the following day."

"How can that be? You're a young woman with an ardent admirer, if the roses on your desk are any indication."

"Well, I'm very much single, so obviously I don't have any romantic plans. And the roses are just this Secret Cupid thing the Department does every year," she explained. "They're not from any real admirer. What about you?"

He drew in a long, low breath. "No, no definite plans yet."

Since his divorce, she had never given his private life much thought. Now she wondered if he was seeing someone. Of course, he was. Wizards like him didn't stay single long. Hermione felt an unexpected pang of jealousy and became quite cross with herself. What a wasted emotion! As if she was ever a contender for his attentions!

"Tell me, Miss Granger," his tone dripped with skepticism, "how is it that the most celebrated witch of our time happens to find herself unattached?"

She slowly chewed as she pondered how to answer. Her first instinct was to tell him that it was none of his business, but decided against it. She didn't want to be rude to a man who bought her lunch, even if he was Lucius Malfoy.

"I guess I haven't found the right person yet. But I'm too busy focusing on my career right now. I don't really have time to be involved with anyone," Hermione finally admitted. "And Valentine's Day is overrated anyway."

Mr. Malfoy leaned closer to her and she visibly shivered.

"Are you cold, Miss Granger?"

She gave him a rueful smile. "I'm always cold this time of year. I hate winter. I wish I could just move to Madeira or something."

A spark flashed in his eyes. "You should find a better way to stay warm then," he stated with a teasing lilt in his voice.

"I'm doing my best."

He looked at his watch again. "I'm afraid I have an important appointment. I must be off."

Gracefully rising from his seat, he extended his hand. Hermione placed her palm unsteadily in his. His grip was firm and his skin warm and smooth. It surprised her. Was she expecting it to be as cold as his eyes?

She though they were going to shake, but instead she watched in amazement as he bowed his head, raised her hand to his lips, and softly kissed her knuckles.

"It was a pleasure, Miss Granger." His voice was strict but smooth and tender, like a low draw of a cello. Why had she never noticed how pleasant it was before?

"Likewise, Mr. Malfoy," she breathed out, feeling all the traces of lingering coldness leave her body.

He swept out of the room. Once he was out of sight, Hermione remembered that he still had to submit his statement. She groaned at her uncharacteristic lapse in priorities and rushed off to the office to send him another message. Before she could, however, she noticed another beribboned note on her desk.

 _All work and no play makes for a dull Valentine's Day._

 _This is no time for solitude. If you desire it, you will find an interesting companion in conference room #5._

Her heart palpitated in her chest with excitement and fear. Should she go? Was she finally going to find out who the mystery sender was? Dying of curiosity, she headed toward the room. When she arrived, the room was dark and empty. She walked towards the long mahogany table and looked and waited.

The familiar purple paper of interdepartmental memo breezed into her hands. She unwrapped it and a piece of red silk fell into her hands.

 _Put this on._

Another game. This mystery man was starting to tire her. What was with this wizard? Still, she obliged him and put it on. As soon as she did, a pair of hands reached out to grip her shoulders and turn her around.

She could feel the stranger's breath on her face, could feel his eyes looking her over. She could smell a faint hint of aftershave that smelt somewhat familiar, but she couldn't quite place it with the face.

Her face was slightly tilted up by the chin and Hermione felt light brush of lips against her own. He pulled back, but she wanted more. Grasping at his robes, she pulled him in for another kiss. He was taken aback. His lips not moving under hers until he relaxed and his arms tightened around her shoulders. His tongue swept in, deepening the slow, passionate kiss. He was an excellent kisser. The best she ever had. She writhed against him, wanting him to devour her, to touch her all over. This was a blissful torture and she needed more of … whoever he was. She writhed against him, rubbing her chest against his. He was taller than her, but she couldn't discern much else. One of his hands brushed over her breasts, then along her hips, tickling down her thighs before coming up again to her waist.

"Please," she whispered against his lips when their kiss ended. She brought his hand back to her breast. His mouth moved down to her neck and she happily bared it for him. A lungful of his aroma filled her nostrils. Whoever he was he smelled so good. She definitely didn't know any wizard who was _this_ enticing.

He pulled back again.

"Don't," Hermione whimpered again. She wasn't ready for this to end. She felt his finger trace the buttons of her blouse. He seemed to be waiting for her permission.

"Yes," she firmly said without prevarication.

Gently, he pushed her blouse open. His touch was soft, yet powerful. She knew she should get back to work, to stop wasting time with some wizard who won't even let her see him, but it felt so alien to be seduced like this that she gave in, wanting to surrender to this mysterious stranger. It was by far the most exciting thing that happened to her in ages and she wanted to just live in the moment. There will be plenty of time to mull over the consequences later.

His fingers feathered across her neck and chest. Turning her again, he brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her back to him. He unclipped her bra and pulled it off. Hermione trembled when she felt the cool air hit her exposed nipples. She leaned closer to his body, sinking into the heat that radiated from him.

His warm hands traced her clothed hips before moving up to cup her breasts. Something about his touch was just so familiar. It's as though she had already felt it today.

Hermione gasped, appalled by the the momentary thought that it might be… It couldn't be… Her mind was playing tricks on her.

All thoughts, however, were lost at his touch. She was transported to a place of pure pleasure. Her enjoyment was cut short when he turned her around again. He raised her skirt to her hips and trailed his hands along her thick stockings before pulling them down along with her knickers, tangling the garments at her feet. Hermione considered stepping out of them, but was afraid to move for fear that she might lose her balance.

Her breath hitched when she felt his face come level with her quivering sex. He guided her back until she lay back on the conference table. The cold wood bit at her back, but she didn't care. He grasped her thighs, nudging her legs apart. His grip was firm and strong. When his lips touched her bared thighs, Hermione moaned in happiness. It's been so long since she felt lips on her skin. She was in wonderland, her world spiraling in a million directions as her pleasure build.

When his mouth touched her labia, a cry burst from Hermione. Her body bucked when his tongue glided smoothly between her soaked lips. As his mouth ravished her, she ground into him, wishing she could see him. His tongue slithered inside her, pushing into her depths as far as he could, then pulling slowly out, bringing Hermione closer and closer to the edge, but not letting her fall. When he finally withdrew his tongue, he replaced it with two fingers, clasping his lips around her swollen clit. Hermione felt her body tense, arching off the table. He hooked his fingers inside, dragging them along her sensitive walls, right over her g-spot. He hummed against her clit and the vibrations, in combination with his fingers, sent her soaring. She felt her orgasm exploding over her body, scorching every nerve. Her body shook uncontrollably. She struggled to breathe, the air pushed out of her body as the aftershocks still ripped their way through her body.

Hermione never felt anything like it. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. He pulled his fingers out of her, but she continued to lay back on the table, no longer cold but hot, relaxed and at peace with the world. She didn't feel him move, but he must have. He softly kissed her and Hermione could taste herself on his lips.

She opened her mouth to thank him, but he raised a finger to her lips to stop her. He remained completely silent throughout the entire encounter. Why didn't he say anything? Was he afraid she'd recognize his voice? So then … they were acquainted after all?

He pulled her stockings back up and helped her with the blouse. Hermione touched her blindfold, but he pulled her hands away. She lowered her hands and for several moments nothing happened, then she heard the door open and close. Yanking off her blindfold, she ran out into the hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but was already empty. He left.

She walked back to her office in a daze. When she arrived she saw a package wrapped in tissue paper with a red ribbon around it. Her fingers itched to open it, but it was too overwhelming. There was a stranger out there who had invaded her life but didn't reveal anything about himself. Should she be worried?

Toying with the ribbon on the package, she pulled it open. Inside was a neatly folded cream cashmere wrap. A note lay on top in the same handwriting that she was so familiar with by now.

 _Something to keep you warm so you won't have to run off to Portugal._

Hermione yelped and slipped off her chair, falling hard on her bum. The realization hit her like a lightening bolt.

It all fit. The gifts, the roses, the notes … everything that's happened in the last two days … it all fit.

It couldn't be, but it had to be.

The stranger, her so-called secret admirer, was none other than Lucius Malfoy!

* * *

 **Now that Hermione has discovered the identity of her mystery man, what will she do with that knowledge?**


	2. Chapter 2: Secret Admirer

**Happy early Valentine's Day, everybody! So happy you like the story. Thank you all so much for your feedback :-)**

 **Had to split last chapter in two due to length. Lemons and cliffhanger ahead!**

* * *

 _T_ _his is a huge mistake_ , Hermione repeated to herself for the umpteenth time as she paced on the wet, dirty snow before the wrought iron gates guarding the lane up to the Malfoy Manor. _Why am I here?_

She shuddered violently as the cold gust of wind hit her, prickling her nose and cheeks. Her gloveless fingers were already half-frozen as she continued to debate with herself for over an hour. It was starting to get dark, there wasn't much time left. Taking a deep breath, she finally pushed the gates open and briskly marched up to the house. If nothing else, she'll at least be able to get out of the cold for a while and he might even let her use his Floo to get home.

When she made it to his door, she grabbed the knocker and let it fall heavily against the door.

A house-elf opened door. He bowed his head. "Madame."

"Hello … um … I'm here to see Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Is he in?" She was so nervous, she could hardly knew if she was speaking coherently.

"I'm afraid he's away. Would you like to leave a calling card?"

Hermione seethed in disappointment. She didn't want to wait another day to confront him. It wasn't fair. Mr. Malfoy forced himself so inextricably into her life … and head; he could intimidate her … intrigue her … kiss her … and then leave her without an explanation. She was owed something.

"I have sensitive documents from the Ministry for him," she smoothly fibbed. "I must deliver them personally into his hands."

"You may wait inside, if you like," the house-elf said nervously, his ears wilting down as he lowered his voice. "However, Mr. Malfoy seldom likes surprise visitors."

"I understand, but I'll have to wait. It's urgent," Hermione breathed out.

The house-elf stepped aside, inviting her to enter. "I'll show you to a study, ma'am."

She followed the house-elf, limping through the foyer and past the grand staircase, not daring to look too closely at her surroundings.

"Will you take tea, ma'am?" the elf asked, as he ushered her into Mr. Malfoy's mahogany study.

She didn't know how long she'll have to wait and she was still so cold. "Yes, thank you."

The elf returned shortly with tea tray, and Hermione hoped the warm liquid would soothe her anxiety. As she continued to vacillate between shock, anger, and confusion, she still didn't know what to say to him. Tea warmed her, making her sweat under her winter cloak. Taking it off, Hermione fished out the cashmere wrap out of her purse and tried it on. It was light, but warm and fit perfectly.

She couldn't accept it though. Could she? Not until she found out the reason behind his newfound generosity.

Despite the warm fire blazing in the hearth, a chill ran down her spine.

She didn't need to be here, she didn't need to see him. What if she was wrong anyway? There was always the possibility that he could deny everything and show her uninvited self the door.

This was a bad idea. Yes, she really should go. Grabbing her cloak, she spun towards the door. The moment she turned, however, wind was knocked out of her lungs as Hermione collided with something firm and unmoving. Something that carried the seductive aroma she smelt earlier today.

Hands came to her arms to steady her as she stared at the smart robes of Lucius Malfoy's chest.

"Miss Granger," he said. His tone was steady, as though finding a Muggle-born witch in his study was an ordinary occurrence for him.

"Mr. Malfoy. I need to talk to you." Her throat froze up. It was so much easier to go through this confrontation in her imagination than in reality.

His lips curled into a grim smile, rendering the severity of his stare more menacing than ever. "So talk."

She treaded carefully. "I think … I think you know what it's regarding."

He pursed his lips, neither denying or confirming her statement.

Puzzled by his reaction, Hermione was at a loss. She wasn't sure what she was expecting from him: remorse … contrition … fury … arrogance? His face revealed nothing of the sort. He was entirely unreadable and yet Hermione could feel the air between them become thick with static, like it does right before a thunderstorm. She stayed motionless, afraid if she moved the electricity between them might discharge and incinerate them both.

"What comes next, Miss Granger?"

"Excuse me?" Her voice quavered.

He stepped closer. "You came to my home, you tell me. What is it you want?"

Trying to scrape the shreds of nerves back together, Hermione groped her brain for an answer. "I want to know why you did it. The notes, the flowers, the gifts … the incident in the conference room … I don't get it. Were you trying to seduce me or something?"

He sneered. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know what to think. That's the problem. It doesn't make any sense to me. What is your agenda with this?" she probed.

His lupine eyes narrowed. "Agenda? No, that's not quite the right word for what I had in mind."

"Then what is?" she snapped in frustration.

"Were you disappointed when you found out?"

"Disappointed? No, that's not quite the right word for it," Hermione smirked as she smugly quoted his own words back to him.

He grunted. "You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine either," she retorted back without skipping a beat.

"The reasons are reparations and pride."

She frowned. "I'm not following. Why reparations? What for?"

For the first time since this conversation began, he averted his eyes. "For letting you suffer for my cowardly mistakes."

His change in demeanor unnerved Hermione. She wasn't sure what was worse: when he looked at her or when he didn't.

"You didn't have to do that. I don't hold you personally responsible for anything. I never blamed you. Even if I did, no gift, however grand, could suddenly make things better," she said, trying in vain to catch his eye. "I loved your gifts though. I usually get books and chocolates as presents from friends, so it was nice to have someone give me something so thoughtful that required paying quite a bit of attention to what I like and need. It almost felt romantic. I never had anyone surprise with anything, especially flowers." Blood rushed to her face as she made her confession.

"I'm glad you approve. Now answer my question. Were you disappointed?"

"Definitely not," she frankly replied. "I just don't understand why me and why you gave yourself away with your last gift."

He cocked his head. "I did originally intend to remain anonymous, yes."

"So what changed your mind?" Hermione pressed.

"Pride. When you revealed that you thought some departmental milksop might be giving them to you, I was determined you should know that they were more than mere seasonal trinkets. The sentiments expressed in those notes were sincere. It was selfish to sent you the last two missives, but that's who I am." He stepped closer to her. "You don't have anyone looking after you, do you?"

What kind of question was that? And how was that apropos to their discussion?

"I manage just fine looking after myself, Mr. Malfoy," she said through clenched teeth.

"But you're alone." There was no inquiry in his voice.

She wanted to spew brimming brimstone down on him for his sexist, demeaning insinuations. "I don't see how—"

"Since working in the Ministry, I've noted two things about you. The first is that you are obsessively obedient. Afraid of breaking even a minor rule. The second is that you have terrible survival instincts. Your curiosity combined with obedience can be a lethal combination."

Hermione bristled with irritation. "I'm not fatally obedient. I've broken plenty of rules in my life when I had good reasons to. Those sort of reasons don't arise every day, so you don't see it of me every day. And I'm not a cat. I'm not curious enough to take reckless risks with my life."

"Oh, no?" His words blew cool across her face. "I was a stranger to you; you had no inkling of who I was when you agreed to meet me in the conference room. And you dutifully followed my instructions with the blindfold, making yourself even more vulnerable. It might have been magicked to harm you. I might have been a murderer … or worse, but you still had an instinct to obey me."

"You have a point," she gave him that. "I did have reservations when I read your note. Because of the enigmatic nature of your letters, I was very curious, I admit that. But we were in the Ministry, you couldn't bring any Dark Arts object in there without detection. And believe me, Mr. Malfoy, when occasion calls for it I can defend myself, blindfolded or not."

"Is that so?" He backed her so far toward the fireplace that she could feel the heat licking at her heels.

In one smooth movement, she whipped out her wand, holding it firmly under his chin. Mr. Malfoy took a step back, looking bemused. Her legs shook as she took a step forward, but she didn't let her lack of composure show.

"So you can. But you are very good at following instructions, are you not?"

"When I want to follow instructions, I do it. But only when I want to."

A command quietly left his lips, "Lower your wand."

Hermione wanted to resist him, to prove him wrong. Yet … she wanted to obey him like she did in the conference room. It felt exciting and forbidden.

Her fingers trembled as she lowered her wand and set it aside.

"Good girl. Sit, Miss Granger."

She lowered herself into a leather couch next to her discarded cloak.

His voice cut through the air, much sharper than before. "Now stand."

Feeling like his marionette, with her strings tangled around her wrists and ankles, Hermione obeyed him again.

He stood over her. "You like obeying me. You like following my instructions. Although our interlude was brief, I noticed it. I find it fascinating." His hands came up to cup her face. "Now … tell me no."

Her lids lowered. Her breath stilled. He was so near, she could feel his lips hovering just above hers. She almost smiled in triumph. She could defy him in this. There was no chance that she would turn down a kiss of his magnitude.

"Say it. Say no."

Licking her lips, she opened her eyes to look steadily in his. "Make me."

At her words, his mouth crashed down upon hers. His kiss was brutal, vicious … punishing. Hermione was thrilled. She kissed him back. This was no typical … seduction? Romance? No word really fit to describe what he was doing to her, and she didn't care for definitions. They seemed so unimportant in comparison to his actions.

He tore his mouth away from her. It was almost cruel.

"What comes next, Mr. Malfoy?" she queried back with his previous question.

His lips grazed at her neck, nipping the skin belong her earlobe, just barely enough to sting. "What's next, Miss Granger, remains very much up to you."

"I-I … I think I should leave."

His eyes flashed. "Yes, you should. It would be most … prudent." He dropped his voice. "You should go, you should run far away, but I don't think I can let you, Miss Granger."

Startled, Hermione looked towards the door. "Wh-what?"

He stood between her and the door, effectively blocking her path to exit.

His words were sharp. "You and I have nothing more to discuss, Miss Granger. You came for answers, I gave them to you. We're through. I have a great difficulty controlling myself around you, as today's incident in the conference room illustrates. You make me alter my plans too much. I don't like alterations. Curiously, you turned down your chance to walk away. Am I to surmise that you want me to have my way with you?"

Her heartbeat haltered. Time seemed to stop.

"I thought you said this wasn't about seducing me," Hermione said when she finally managed to form the words in her dry throat.

"It's not. It is not a seduction I seek."

"So then … what?"

His hand came up to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. "You altered the course of my plans when you changed the rules in that conference room. You made a grave error in letting me have a taste of something I liked. I'm an obsessive creature, Miss Granger. When I have a small bite of something I want, I crave more of it until I am sated, do you understand? Until I am sated." His tone was fatally serious.

She drew in a sharp breath and strained for more kisses, but he held back.

"It has been a long time for you, hasn't it? Listen carefully, I will only stop now if you say 'red'. If you say it, everything stops and you'll be free to go. Is that understood, Hermione Granger?"

Red, the color of the roses. Red like the ribbon on her gifts.

"Yes."

Lucius Malfoy kissed her again. His kiss sent a tingling burn from her lips down to her chest, descending lower still to her feet, before dissolving.

In one motion, he scooped Hermione up and lowered her down onto the sofa, pinning her wrists above her head. A shriek of surprise left her lips, but was stifled by his kiss. His very presence was noxious to her reason. Like poison, it was weakening her the more she tasted of him. She felt his free hand slip loose the buttons of her blouse.

The exposure of skin called upon her self-consciousness to make its debut. _What am I doing? This isn't a game. It's dangerous. He's dangerous. How much would a momentary pleasure cost?_

Hermione felt his hand slip beneath her torso and unclasp her bra and pull it off along with her shirt. She was completely topless before him; he was fully attired. Her skin was on fire under his eyes. Like dry ice, they burned her with their frigidity. He kneaded her breasts and she closed her eyes, unable to look at him anymore. Her hips rose up under his touches, arching against the hard swelling of his wool trousers.

"Patience, Miss Granger," he gently scolded her. "I will give you what you want, but you will suffer for it first."

The throbbing ache that started when he kissed her this afternoon had blossomed to a scorching, scarlet longing.

His hand settled a hand on her hot and damp mound. Hermione moaned, but it was stifled by his hot tongue filling her mouth, kissing slowly, seductively as his fingers brushed over her clit.

She struggled to remain still. It was a blissful torture.

As his tongue lashed across one of her nipples, she cried out and did her best to hold her hips in check, feeling as though she could come from that alone. He teased her nipple some more before taking it into his warm mouth, then repeating the process on her other nipple. Softly panting and moaning, Hermione arched into his mouth, offering more of herself to him. His hand freed her wrists and she was finally able to tangle her hands in his long, gorgeous locks. His mouth sucked harder on her nipples until all she could do was beg and plead for him.

Lucius moved back from her, making a short work of plucking off her remaining garments. She suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed, glad that her eyes were closed and she was unable to see him.

He leaned over her and placed a sweet kiss on each of her brows. "Open your eyes. I want you to look at me."

She did. She watched as he slid his hand between her legs.

He groaned. "You are so wet for me. Such a good girl." He pulled out his glistening fingers and Hermione flushed with embarrassment.

"When you came here, did you imagine me fucking you?" he smoothly asked, as he began to stroke her.

Hermione's thoughts blurred. She was losing her focus.

A sharp slap to her vulva brought her back to reality. It didn't hurt but it was … intense. It resonated throughout her whole body, rippling all the way up to the roots of the hair on her head, and down to the tips of her toes.

"I don't like to repeat myself, Miss Granger. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer," Lucius growled.

"I didn't. I didn't think it would get this far," she gasped out.

His fingers returned to her, gliding deeper than before, expertly tweaking the swollen bud of her clit. "The first time I saw you at the Ministry, kneeling down to scoop up the parchments you dropped in the lift, I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to grab you, drag you into the washroom, rip off your clothes and fuck you until you forgot your name. Does that frighten you?"

"Yes. And no. I don't know." His sentiments should be frightening. They would have been if anyone else had said them to her. To hear coarse, libertine admissions from the mouth of Lucius Malfoy as he continued to finger her was far from frightening; it was orgasmic.

His breath blew warm across her neck as he spoke again, "You will only come when I say so, understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy."

Groaning, Lucius began to increase his strokes in subtle increments, his lips moving between kissing neck and her breasts. Hermione's brain could barely function; she couldn't hang on to any thought for long. She strained her lower half, wanting to reach her release, but still trying to keep still. She teetered on the brink of orgasm, her thighs quivering of their own accord. He drew her nipple into his mouth and gently bit down on it. It startled Hermione enough to keep her from careening over the edge, but it wasn't enough to hurt.

"Patience," he growled.

The sound of his voice did it. Her body abandoned commands of her brain. Her hips pulsated violently up into his touch as her orgasm overtook her in long, undulating waves. It went on and on, taking even her vocal cords with it as Hermione couldn't even find the voice to cry out his name. When her body calmed, she was surprised to find herself still conscious. She barely felt her limbs and felt completely disoriented.

He shook his head, but his smug smirk was back. "I thought we had an understanding, Miss Granger. You must work on your control."

"I can't help it, it's how you affect me." Her voice was muffled to her ears.

"I'm glad I please you."

"Immensely," Hermione breathed out, closing her eyes. She was weak and completely at his mercy.

He turned her over and she raised her hips when she heard the clinking of his belt unbuckling.

"I can see how wet you are," he said softly as he kissed her neck.

When his cock pierced her, Hermione yelped from the sensitivity and the staggering feeling of him filling her. She grasped at the leather beneath her hands, unable to gain any purchase on it, practically choking on oxygen. In slow thrusts, he withdrew and sank back in several times, letting her get used to him before claiming her at a faster speed. The tip of his cock caught her clit with each thrust, catapulting her towards another release.

"You needed this, didn't you?" he grunted in her ear, his voice low and lusty.

His thrusts were so deep and masterful that shockwaves of pleasure rapidly rebuild themselves and it wasn't long before she was once more melting around him. The French called this the little death and, in a way, it was. No one could experience such rapture without sacrificing something of themselves for it. Like a virus, Lucius Malfoy was slowly killing her, bit by bit, orgasm after orgasm.

He swatted her arse. "You didn't answer me."

"Yes, yes. Oh, God, just let me come," she pleaded, struggling to keep her promise yet again, her eyes watering from concentration.

Another swat followed. "I don't know why you're begging God, Miss Granger. I'm the one who's fucking you," he snarled with ferocity. "Beg me."

He continued to move faster and harder. His fingers edged to her clit to work his lascivious magic on it. Every muscle in her body tensed, close to snapping.

"Please, _Lucius_ , let me come," Hermione begged him.

"I will," he panted above her. "Just not yet."

His rhythm increased. This sweet torture was too much, threatening to rip her apart.

She intended to keep her promise, but started spiraling toward oblivion again. "I can't … please."

"Come then," he ordered.

With a wild, wanton scream, Hermione gave in to the masterclass of orgasms, soaring so high she felt as though she must have left her body. Lucius continued to thrust into her. With a grunt, he stiffened, and she felt a series of pulsations burst into her.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she collapsed beneath him. He rose off her body, but remained beside her, lightly stroking her back. Hermione's sobs got louder.

"Don't cry." He sounded as though he was trying to soothe her, but it brought her no comfort. She heard him zip up his trousers. The sound proclaimed to the world what had transpired between them. He hadn't even bothered to remove his clothes. Suddenly, Hermione felt very exposed and vulnerable.

Shame consumed her. She couldn't believe she let him take her in his study like some cheap whore. She couldn't believe she begged him like a nymphomaniac. Everything Hermione did since she walked into this room violated all her principles. And she liked it. She liked it so much it appalled her.

His hands touched her shoulders and Hermione jerked away from him, scalded by his touch.

Mr. Malfoy turned her to face him, his jaw clenched with tension. His next words were heartbreaking, "Miss Granger, this was a great misunderstanding. I hope … I mean it's not that I … " He looked away. His arctic veneer faltered for one fleeting moment. "I-I think it's best that we try to forget this." He quickly recovered. "My house-elf can assist you with anything you need. Do try to keep warm."

He walked towards the door, hesitated, then was gone. Tears continued to leak down her face. She didn't understand anything. She felt used and degraded. Why did he do this to her if he never wanted to see her again? He said it wasn't about seduction, so then why do this? If only she had never come here…

Throwing on her clothes, she gathered her wits about her to Apparate home.

She owled to work sick for the rest of the week with every intention of skipping the benefit as well. She felt too ashamed to face him. He'd act as though nothing had happened and she couldn't deal with humiliation of that calibre. Hermione even returned his gifts.

Before her hot bath that night, Hermione received an owl from Harry, saying he and Ginny wanted to stop by after the benefit to check on her. She agreed, but really wasn't in the mood for company. Any company.

As she was drying herself off, she heard a knock on her door. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was only nine. The benefit must still be in full swing. Did they leave early?

She threw on her flannel dressing gown and opened the door a crack. The brass chain still remained locked.

Staring back at her wasn't Harry and Ginny. It was the face of one wizard she did not want to see at that moment. The rhythm of her heartbeat faltered, then picked up chaotically.

How did he find her here?

Unable to speak, Hermione slammed the door closed again and leaned heavily against it.

The knock came again.

What did he want from her?

 _Go away,_ she silently begged him. _Just go away._

He knocked. Louder this time.

Curiosity nagged at Hermione, overruling all rational thought.

Her hand poised over the doorknob against her own volition. And then she turned it.


	3. Chapter 3: Red Proposal

"What do you want?" Hermione barked at him the moment she opened the again.

His eyes glacial eyes widened slightly when he caught the sight of her dishabille, but he quickly recovered.

"I'm looking for a Miss Granger. Have you seen her?" His cocky grin was back.

"May I ask, who is looking for her?" Hermione played along, shivering. Their last encounter left her so fragile that she could barely get out of bed. His presence was a virus, and she was flirting with danger again, willing to risk another infection.

He leaned into the small opening. "An admirer." The way he said it made it sound like a threat and Hermione hated that a sinister part of her liked it.

"There must be a great misunderstanding then, because this Miss Granger has no admirers, only rogues and scoundrels come to her door."

Unmoved by her insult, he persisted, "But this one wishes to atone and explain." He held up a bouquet of roses. Red roses, like the ones he sent her earlier this week. "He brought a few very thirsty friends."

 _Damn that man!_

Why was she letting him get under her skin?

She imagined inviting him in, listening to his florid soliloquy on why he treated her like a whore, and then she'd take that bouquet of his … and whack him on the head with it. How she'd love to see the look on his face when he'll realize she's not some obedient dog that he can train. But she also knew that there was little chance of this happening.

Ending their game, she kept her eyes firmly on the flowers as she spoke, "I'm not sure that's wise, sir. You said we had nothing more to discuss."

"The flowers are dying, Miss Granger. You'd best fetch them a vase."

Nice trick. Did he think she was that gullible? She was born at night, just not last night. Hermione saw right through his not-so-clever ploy.

"They were dying from the moment their stems were cut, so I don't think they care if they wither in your hands or in a vase," she said as steadily as she could.

"You are cruel, Miss Granger. You don't think they're suffering?"

"They're just flowers, Mr. Malfoy."

"If you deny them water, you should put them out of their misery." He raised his hand to one of the flowers and plucked one petal from it, letting it float down on her side of the door.

Then he ripped off another, and another, before decapitating the poor stem and crushing the petals in his fist, leaving the poor thing completely stripped. His mutilation was blasphemous. It was just a flower, but it was hers and it was beautiful. It deserved to be admired not discarded like rubbish.

"Stop!" she cried out when he reached for another stem. "I'll put them in water."

Closing the door, she unlocked the chain and threw the door open, inviting him in. He stepped forward, bringing his toxic scent with him. Her senses started to reel as she remembered the moment she noticed it that very first time in the conference room. But she quickly caught herself. Hermione was not going to be so weak this time. She caught the loose thread and tied it up before he could unravel her more. He stalked closer to her and planted the bouquet into the fold of her arms. She took it into the kitchen and filled the vase with water before stuffing the surviving flowers in and fluffing them out. Staring at red blossoms she wondered why they were associated with romance. She didn't feel romanced by Lucius Malfoy. She felt manipulated and controlled.

His footsteps on the kitchen tiles told her he followed her in.

"So what's next, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, staring at the roses to disguise her nerves. "If my memory serves me correctly, you said it's best that we try to forget each other."

"I did say that. But I've been wrong before."

Hermione turned to look at him. That's it? He could just change his mind and expect her to act grateful for it?

He closed the space between them and reached out to brush off a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. She ducked and stepped out of the way. He lowered his hand.

Despite giving him that impression, Hermione wasn't afraid of him. More like afraid of what his touch might do. She wasn't going to give in to him. She shivered and then coughed several times, turning her face away from him.

He scowled. "Are you ill?"

"No."

Lucius moved closer, backing her against the refrigerator. There was no way to evade him now.

"Have you a fever? Chills?" he asked, his eyes scanning her body.

She hated when people pulled the GP routine.

"No, I'm fine," she said.

"You're shivering."

"Because I'm standing in the kitchen talking to you instead of getting dressed."

Still scowling, he backed off. "There's a draft in this room. You should get dressed. I'll wait."

Hermione wanted to argue with him, but knew that she'd be more comfortable dealing with him with as much clothes on as possible. Stalking off to her bedroom, she quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater and used a charm to dry off her hair.

Out of politeness, she offered him tea and he accepted. "Well?" she asked him as soon as she poured their cups and took a seat at the table. "Why are you here? And how did you even know where I live?"

He took a long sip, then set his cup aside. "I have my ways, and you're not that difficult to find. You didn't come to work for several days."

She folded her arms over her chest. "That's none of your business. Don't act like you suddenly care."

Hermione knew it wasn't concern for her well-being that caused him to materialize on her stoop. Oh, no. With him, there was always a strategy. Always a gambit.

"I came to talk to you about what happened. That's why I came here tonight."

Hermione nearly spilled her tea and steadied her cup.

"I never meant for it to happen the way it did. Believe me, that wasn't at all the reason why I initially contacted you." His fingers toyed with the handle of his cup. "But it did happen and, although it's not a custom of mine, I want to apologize. You said no gift can make up for certain things, so apology is the most I can offer you in this situation."

"Then why did you bring me flowers?"

His frosty eyes bore right into hers. "You said that you liked them." He leaned closer. "I was too selfish to think clearly about my actions beforehand. I acted impulsively. I didn't mean to … make you weep like that. I thought you enjoyed it. When I realized my mistake, it was already too late."

"I did enjoy it. What I didn't enjoy was being kicked out afterwards. You used me and then just … left. Like I was nothing, just something to assuage your needs. I know you've been eavesdropping on me, so you probably know that it's been a long time for me, but contrary to your beliefs, I'm not so desperate for sex to just do it with anyone. I liked the way you made me feel and I was attracted to you, so I did. I didn't think you'd treat me like a parasite afterwards."

He shook his head. "We had a misunderstanding then. I thought you cried because you regret it. Here I was trying to atone for one horrific act, while committing a much more heinous one."

"Wait, you thought I was crying because of … Oh. That's not why … I didn't cry because of regret. I was ashamed and confused." Her voice quavered as she explained, "I liked what you did to me, but I felt like I wasn't supposed to. I mean I'm not the kind of witch to just show up uninvited and then just let someone have their way with me. But I liked it because it was you. I liked the way you spoke to me and how you made me feel during. But it all felt wrong because it's not me. Then when you said it was all a mistake, it felt like it was an irrefutable proof of my degradation."

Pushing his tea aside, he closed the space between them.

"There is nothing wrong with liking what we did. I'm glad you liked it. I did too. In fact, I liked it so much that I'm in danger of becoming an addict."

Her head was spinning. She felt strange vein of relief and disappointment. Did he come here with his flowers and apologies to take more from her? To just keep feeding his addiction until he was cured of it?

"So that's why you're here? To feed your habit?"

His eyes flashed. "No. I told you why I came here. Now that I know we had a minor miscommunication, I do have a proposition for you, but there are some things we'll need to talk about first."

An excited thrill traveled down her body, dissipating with an electric tingle between her thighs. Hermione wasn't certain what to say next. Conflicted, she wasn't sure if she was even ready to forgive him yet. He hurt her, but not because he wanted to use her; he only acted the way he did was because he thought she was crying in regret. But at the same time she couldn't let him sink his claws into her. She was afraid of who she would become if she stayed around him for an extended period. During one encounter, she was transformed into a creature controlled by her primal senses. She let him tell her what to do and, in a haunting way, liked it … was it a weakness? Why did she like something that should be degrading to her?

Lucius raised her chin up. "Have dinner with me."

Confusion flooded her. "Why? And I can't. My friends are stopping by later."

Cocking his head, he asked, "Not now. Tomorrow. And why what?"

"Why dinner? You don't have to ingratiate your way into my knickers again. You obviously know how to get what you want without taking me anywhere," Hermione acidly remarked. "Why waste your time with me?"

"Why do you think I'm wasting time? It's not how I see it. And I'm not some youngster after an easy shag. What I want is a little more … complex."

"Then what do you want?"

"Have dinner with me and I'll tell you."

Hermione despised herself for wanting to, for not having the power to turn him away. She was never so enslaved by any wizard like this before. This wasn't normal … or healthy.

"Yes." The word left her mouth without passing through her brain. There was a fatalistic inevitability in all this. It didn't matter what happened or what was supposed to happen. It didn't matter that he pushed her away and then tracked her down. It only felt oddly right that sooner or later their lives should be entwined somehow. She couldn't go back to the way she was before he made love to her. It's like with one act, he'd set in motion some sort of metamorphosis in her, only Hermione needed him to complete the transformation. She couldn't complete it without him.

"That's a good girl." He rose from his seat. "Tell your friends not to overstay. You'll need a proper rest for tomorrow."

 _He's leaving?_ She felt a violent stirring of disappointment in her muscles.

"You're not staying a bit longer?" she asked. So many questions were still unanswered and … she wasn't ready for him to leave.

Smirking, he helped her out of her seat and stood over her very close. "No, I don't want to keep you. Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. The Samovar Room. If you'll change your mind, I won't bother you again." Hermione nodded, standing perfectly still as he lay a light kiss to her cheek.

Giving her arm a light squeeze, he turned and walked out, letting himself out.

The skin of her cheek still tingled long after he was gone.

* * *

Hermione fidgeted with her coat as she waited in the restaurant's lobby, scanning the tables and the bar area for any sign of Lucius. She trembled in her heels when she thought that he might be standing her up. Or perhaps he forgot. Each possibility seemed more humiliating than the next. She clenched her jaw as she looked at the clock. He was five minutes late.

"You changed your hair," said a voice behind her.

She shuddered when she felt his hands wrap around her collar to help her out of the coat.

Self-consciously, she touched her straightened locks. "Do you like it?"

His breath bristled her ear, "I like you either way."

She felt her face turn as red as her dress. Again, she shivered as his hand slid down the small of her back.

"Come. Our table is waiting."

Hermione felt ill at ease walking in front of him. She made a mad decision of foregoing all unmentionables this evening because the silk of her dress made every pair of knickers starkly visible and the back of the dress was too low for any brassieres. As she walked to their table, the breeze up her dress made her painfully aware of her lower half. What if he could tell she was sans underwear?

They sat a private booth with a replica of Karl Briullov's painting hanging over it. _The Horsewoman_ … that was the name of it. She stared at the subject in the painting: a well-dressed noblewoman atop the black stallion. Atop the rearing horse, she looked calm and collected, absolutely unfazed by the actions of her steed. When Lucius chose to sit next to her instead of across, Hermione wished she could feel as calm as the rider in the painting.

"Unique, isn't it?" Lucius asked as he fastidiously straightened the flatware.

"I've never been here before. It's very nice," she commented, feeling a bit staggered by the elegant decor.

He perused his menu for a nanosecond before snapping it shut. "I want you to know that you are free to leave at any time. I don't want you to feel as though you're obligated to stay for any reason," he said.

Her body visibly tensed when she felt his palm on her thigh.

"Relax," he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Save your nerves for when I tell you the truth."

"The truth?" she squeaked out.

With his other hand, he touched the base of her neck. His touch singed her skin.

"About what I want from you. About what I want to do to you." The hand on her thigh inched up in subtle increments. "About every salacious fantasy you've inspired."

Hermione shut her eyes, struggling to breath evenly as his hand glided higher still.

"Mr. Malfoy, please. We're in public." Her voice was strained and hoarse.

His dark smirk resurfaced. "We're not doing anything untoward. We're just two friends having a quiet dinner. Besides, this restaurant is renowned for its discretion." He nodded to his left. "That Italian Ambassador, for example, is here with a witch who's not his wife. You hardly have to worry about us causing a scandal."

"Still … I'm not good with public displays of—"

"Pleasure?" he supplied, casually draping his napkin across his lap.

She couldn't answer him. It was as though her vocal cords were severed.

He tilted his head. "You might find my offer tonight outrageous. Shocking, even. You may not want to see me again afterwards, and that's fine. Your word will be final and I won't pursue you further."

Hermione fought back another shiver as she recalled how angry she'd been with him the night before and how he unilaterally decided to show up on her doorstep, not giving her any say in the matter. Yet by the time he left, she wished he wouldn't.

She opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate when the waiter interrupted them. He greeted Lucius amicably. It was clear that the enigmatic wizard was a regular here.

"We'll start with the caviar sampler and a seventy nine reserve to start, followed by a five course menu."

The waiter nodded approvingly. "Very good, sir."

"A bit excessive, isn't?" Hermione asked him when the waiter disappeared.

"It's an authentic Russian restaurant, Miss Granger. The servings are not enormous."

Before Hermione could say anything else, the waiter returned carrying a silver tray laden with small dishes, crystal flutes, and a bottle of champagne. He poured a small about for Lucius, who promptly set the glass before Hermione. She took a small sip. Bubbles of champagne tickled her nose and danced smoothly down the back of her throat. Unsurprisingly, it was the best kind she'd ever tasted.

Lucius flicked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you approve?" he asked.

Hermione was about to answer in affirmative when she nearly chocked as his fingertips swept along the skin of her thigh again.

The waiter panicked. "Is something the matter with it, ma'am?"

She emphatically shook her head, her eyes watering.

"Oh, no. She definitely likes it," Lucius told him as his hand continued to caress her. "It is, however, her first visit to the Samovar Room and she is not familiar with some of the items on the menu. If you would explain them to her?"

 _Oh, no! He wouldn't! He wouldn't dare!_

"Of course, sir." The waiter grinned as he began to recite the elaborate meal.

Lucius's hand moved higher to the edge of her dress. Feeling blood rush to her head, Hermione made a stalwart effort to keep her legs together while feigning paying attention to their waiter's words, but only caught small snippets. Her eyes fastened on each crystal caviar dish as the waiter pointed it out. _Beluga. Oscietra. Sevruga. Keta._ That one was red. Red like the roses. Red like the word of her deliverance. _Pike._ The pale yellow.

She had smother a gasp as Lucius's hand crept underneath the dress. Any moment he would know … any moment he would discover what was missing from her outfit. He would assume her choice reflected her wishes for tonight. Finally, the waiter stopped and so did Lucius.

"Do you have any more questions, ma'am?"

"No. Thank you. It all sounds delicious," Hermione replied to the oblivious waiter. Once more he nodded and disappeared, leaving them completely alone.

Hermione's heart was still rattling in her chest as Lucius slid his palm very slowly down to her knee and released her. With that same hand, he raised his flute and studied the effervescent golden liquid.

"This vintage is your age, I believe." He didn't wait for her answer. "I never cared much for such young variety before. Too simple. The taste is too sweet initially, but quickly erodes and becomes too bitter. But the seventy-nine was a rare year. It has a deeper, long-lasting flavor. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Fresh and light. Perfect." His eyes locked with hers. Hermione swore they could cut through diamonds. "I developed quite a craving for it lately." He touched his glass to hers. "Your health." He sipped, not breaking his gaze.

He gestured towards the caviar dishes, and handed her the crystal spoon. "The only way to eat it is alone."

She looked at the little assortment between them. "Doesn't look like it'll be enough for two people."

"It's best consumed in small amounts. After a taste, one usually knows what one likes and whether they want more of it. I know I do. Do you?"

"Do I what?" she asked, squirming under his gaze.

"Do you know what you like, Hermione Granger?"

She felt her cheeks flush crimson. He stared at her until she felt compelled to nod.

"Good girl." He lifted his spoon, scooping up the red caviar, and brought it to her lips. "Have you ever tried this one?"

She shook her head.

"Taste."

Instinctively, she opened her mouth and rolled the beads on her tongue before swallowing and reflectively reached with her own spoon for more.

"You like it."

She nodded, smiling, then her face fell. "Mr. Malfoy, as much as I'm enjoying our little dance here, I really need to know why you invited me here tonight."

He lowered his spoon. "I have an offer for you."

"What kind of offer?"

Without hesitation, he evenly answered, "I've been offered a diplomatic post in Rome, and I'd like you to accompany me."

Hermione gawked at him, unsure she'd heard him right. "I don't think I heard you correctly."

His tone remained dark and deliberate. "Come with me to Rome next month and stay with me for the duration of my appointment there. I'll take care of all your arrangements. You won't have a thing to worry about other than how to arrange your daily activities."

He smoothly took a sip of champagne as Hermione continued to gape at him.

She formed her words carefully, trying not to reveal how absurd and ludicrous she found the whole proposal. "You want me to live with you in another country?"

"I do," he solemnly replied.

"Are you asking me to be your mistress?" she dropped her voice at the last word.

He smirked again. She couldn't believe he found this amusing. Was he only teasing her again?

"I think you have a very good idea of what my intentions are, but it's not simply about sex with me. I'm not looking to purchase your affections. If you do choose to accompany me, I'll be the one taking charge of essential affairs, not using it as leverage to chain you to my bed post. Unless, of course, you request it."

She pursed her lips as she leaned back to look him over. "Our main and most prolonged interaction this week has been purely sexual. Now you're asking me to come live with you in a foreign country, and you expect me to believe it's not about sex?"

He scooped a morsel of gray caviar into his mouth. "Not to sound eccentric, but even sex is not entirely about sex for me. I like control aspect of it. It is more orgasmic than the act itself. If you choose to come with me, it'll be on my terms." Lucius stared so hard at her, Hermione felt herself begin to burn under his gaze again. "If you agree, you will give up certain freedoms, but you will always have a choice to walk away without fear of retribution. Do you understand?"

Attempting to cross her legs under the table, Hermione hit her knee. She shut her eyes against the pain and bit her lip to keep from crying out loud. The proposition was insane. She should be indignant, or scandalized that he should even say so out loud, but she wasn't. She was intrigued. With Lucius Malfoy, the proper boundaries of social interaction didn't seem to exist. They vanished completely now and Hermione found herself entranced more than anything else. The austerity with which he spoke was unnerving, but it was also … sexy. The whole offer had a perverse, seductive madness to it.

The air was thick between them. Hermione felt the chill of his eyes, cold enough to burn, igniting each nerve in her body as she contemplated what to say next. The waiter arrived with the first course of traditional Russian borsch. He laid out the bowls and cleared off the superfluous dishes of our caviar and went away without a word, sensing he must have interrupted something important. His interruption was enough to jolt Hermione out of her twisted musings. This couldn't be real.

"No, I don't understand." She blew lightly on her beetroot soup. "You expect me to give up my whole life to follow you around the globe? It makes no sense. Why would you even pick me? We are strangers to each other."

His manner was contemptuous as he spoke, "My reasons for choosing you are irrelevant. What matters is whether or not you want to explore our connection further. You said you know what you want. You've had a taste, now you have to decide if you want to make it your main diet."

She blinked. "It's not that simple. You expect me to just drop my job, my life here and just go off into the sunset with you where you'll take care of all my needs. Things like that don't happen. There are always strings. There is always a price to be paid."

"If you want to continue working, I'm not going to stop you. You can get transferred to a post in Rome, or I can request you to be part of my staff. I don't expect you to be locked in the tower. You can spend your days as you choose. I'll hardly be around until evening, so your time is your own; you can fill it as you like as long as you keep me informed of your whereabouts and return promptly by four each day. As to your other concerns, I don't expect you to be a slave to my needs. We will not share a bedroom. You'll have your own quarters."

"So not a mistress you seek then, only a prisoner," Hermione quipped.

He flicked his napkin at the corners of his mouth. "Wrong again. You'll have your wand and you'll be free to leave at any time. There will be no magic to keep you with me. If for any reason you'll choose to terminate our agreement, you'll be able to go on your merry way in an instant."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So hypothetically speaking, if I agreed to join you and then I decided to change my mind after one week, I could just go? Without you expecting any compensation from me?"

"Certainly," he coolly replied. "Each of us will carry on our separate ways."

She sipped at her soup while mulling over the questions in her head. "And how long would I stay with you? Hypothetically."

"As long as you want." He sat aside his empty bowl.

Hermione had barely made a dent in hers. Her appetite fled her since he dropped this proposal into her lap.

Chewing on her lip, she asked him her next question, "Have you done this before? You sound as though it's not the first time you're proposing this sort of … arrangement."

"Of course," he answered without skipping a beat. "It may sound cliché, but I'm a divorced and busy man. I lead a more nomadic lifestyle than I did in my previous years; therefore, I have neither time nor patience for traditional relationships. Professional courtesans don't interest me either. This is what works and what suits my tastes best. I know they don't appeal to many witches like you, but I had to ask. If you choose to decline, I'll perfectly understand."

She wondered how many, but then shook her head at the irrelevance of her concerns. It didn't matter how many. He was asking her now and she was tempted. Was it right? Hermione knew she wasn't in love with him. He was complicated, but intriguing. And if their past two encounters are anything to go by, Lucius Malfoy was definitely the best lover shel ever had. It would be a nice change from celibacy. And Rome! She could escape the numbing cold wetness to live the Mediterranean dream. If she ever wanted to get out of the capital, there were so many attractive options, like Tuscany. It was her cherished dream to see Florence and then just drive into the countryside with its famed cypresses and rolling hills of vineyards and olive groves. She'd been planning on a holiday like that forever, but dreaded doing it alone. From the pages of travel brochures those types of places were meant to be shared experiences, and she never met anyone with whom she could share something so life-altering.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," Hermione said at last. "It's just that if you made that happen, I'd feel indebted to you. There has to be some expectations aside from letting you control certain aspect of my life and occasionally sharing your bed."

"Like I said, I like the aspect of control … in everything. You like obeying me. Until you like it no more, it is what it is." He leveled his eyes at her and Hermione shriveled under their ferocity.

"I can't quit my job," she shakily told him, borsch forgotten in her bowl.

"The Ministry will get along just fine without you. However, as I've said, we can submit a transfer request. They won't refuse you. If they will, you can easily join my staff and we can customize a position that suits your talents and preferences." He leaned back in his seat. "What else holds you back?"

"Or you could make an excuse and leave right now and we'll speak no more on the subject," Lucius needled her.

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I can't decide without you answering some questions. I asked before and you brushed it off, but I still need to know why you picked me. I don't get it. You've had me, and it only cost you some flowers and a couple of presents. The thrill of the chase must be over, so why do this with me? There are probably tons of witches who would love to be in my place."

He was silent for a long time before choosing to answer, "Tons of witches who are not you. You have the qualities I prize, which are hard to find. I'd be a fool to let you slip away. You were not what I was looking for, but you turned out to be exactly what I need."

Hermione's eyes must have doubled in size. "But how? I am nothing special."

His eyes flashed darkly. "You are wrong."

The waiter appeared again an cleared their plates, setting down a course of baltic herring, boiled potatoes and onion dressing. Her stomach in summersaults, she stared at the appetizing composition on her plate. She needed to have this confusion resolved before she could eat. She knew that her frustrations with him, however emphatic and justified, were worthless. She wanted to cross the Rubicon and see what lay on the other side.

"I will do this," Hermione said, knowing she'll never have another wild opportunity like this again. "But I have one condition."

 _Alea iacta est._

* * *

 **One more chapter after this (seriously, I didn't realize it was this long!)**

 **Thank you all so much for your interest and lovely comments. And thanks to loveleebee for submitting a request for those two to have another adventure only 30,000 feet above ground. I'm totally on it and they will be joining the Mile High Club very soon :D**

 **Hugs,**

 **Lana**


	4. Chapter 4: Sweetest Treat

"Name it." The frost in his voice chilled Hermione to the bone.

"I will go on the condition that you tell me everything I ask of you tonight. Truthfully," she declared.

Lucius scowled. "I thought I was doing just that."

Hermione shook her head, feeling her courage return to her. "No. You gave me vague deflections. They give an appearance of answering questions without giving me solid information. I need to know why I am such a desirable candidate for this in your mind and why do you do those sort of arrangements. I mean, you're not a deviant or a sociopath. Being busy with work and travel doesn't automatically make someone want to have that much control over their partners."

He slightly withdrew. "I'm not a sociopath, I hope. Nevertheless, analyzing my reasons for such preferences will get you nowhere with me. The truth, Miss Granger? I've always been like this."

"Even when you were married?"

Lucius let out a gruff sigh. "Yes, even then."

Hermione dropped her eyes, staring at the bubbles in her champagne glass. She wasn't sure why his admission made her so sad. Why would anyone place such limitations on himself and his relationships? It felt impersonal somehow … and rather finite.

"I understand why you want to know." His words hung heavily in the air. "At one point in my life, I did too. I guess the best way to explain it is that fetishes are akin to phobias. Some are common, some are not. Some come early in life, some later."

The summersaults in her stomach were somewhat mollified by his understanding and, unable to resist the delicious meal in front of her, Hermione took the first bite of the herring on her plate. Still, she needed to know more. Lucius Malfoy seemed like a man of many secrets and, if she was going to hand herself and her life over to him, she had to know more. Much more.

"So again, why me? What makes me so ideal in your eyes?" Hermione carefully proceeded. "You said it's not only about sex, even if I have qualities that make me ideal for your particular _tastes_. So what is this other part of choosing me?"

His gaze leveled darkly. "It is the only way I see to atone for the past."

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he held a finger to her lips.

"You don't have to say anything. You've already voiced your opinions on that subject. But it is what I feel must be done. I can never make up for the past, but I can do this. I can give you a life of limitless possibilities for as long as you want it."

"Or rather until you've assuaged your guilt and moved on to a new object of obsession," Hermione plainly declared.

He dropped his fork on a plate with a clatter. "Listen carefully when I tell you that if there was anyone else I wouldn't have made this offer to you. I never involve myself with more than one. Only one witch gets the brunt and burden of my focus. I can't give you a reason for why. It's just my nature." He reached over and set his hand tightly on her forearm. "I also don't share anything I like. _Ever_. If you choose to come with me, you won't be seeing other men. You will be mine alone." His grip thinned into soft strokes. "And it is not guilt. Atonement, Miss Granger. Reparations must be made in the best way I know how. Yes, it has a very selfish, primal component. But … that is me."

"And what about when you feel the reparations have been made? What then?" she pried.

A teasing half-smirk flickered over Lucius's lips. "Which former beau made you so insecure? That's why you avoid romantic entanglements, isn't it? One worthless prick hurt you and now you view all men with equal suspicion. That's why you assumed your gifts were not from an admirer, but rather some holiday-themed office scheme. That's why you assumed that once I had you, I had no further use for you. That's why you're alone. You don't want to be hurt again."

Tears simmered in Hermione's eyes and she looked down at her plate. "You're not as clever as you presume to be."

"Then tell me I'm wrong," he challenged her.

She couldn't. His assessment was accurate.

Lucius lifted her chin to lock his eyes with hers. It was almost too much. "You don't have to tell me. The truth is, Miss Granger, I don't care. I don't care who he was or what he did. I don't care why he made you so ashamed of your sexual needs. None of those things matters anymore. With me, it all becomes irrelevant, because you will always have the choice to walk away first. However, while you are with me, you will be the only one."

Hermione wiped at her eyes with her napkin. "You're making me sound like another object in your vast collection."

His voice lowered. "Is that so bad to be cherished? No one will touch you or hurt you."

"Except you," she countered.

"Until you choose to walk away from me. Although it may not seem so, the power is solely in your hands. Stay or go, the choice is always yours to make first."

"So how many witches you've made this offer? How many came before me? Was it all atonement in some way?"

Lucius took a sip of his champagne. "No. Different people, different feelings, different motivations. And not many. Two since my divorce. It is not quantity that matters, but quality. Now, have I fulfilled your condition enough for us to proceed further?"

Hermione nodded. Her attraction to him wasn't based on emotions. It was this visceral toxin that seeped into her blood and tied her to him. For reasons she could scarcely begin to fathom, it turned her on to obey him, to have him tell her what to do.

She nodded again.

"Good girl." His hand dove into her hair, playing gently with her strands. "There are few logistics. In Italy, you will have your own bank account. You should move your savings there as soon as you get the chance."

Frowning, Hermione felt very ill at ease at the mention of money. "Why?"

He removed his hand. "You won't need it while you're with me, but it'll be better for you in the long-term. Should you walk away, you're the only one with access to your assets, old or newly accumulated. Everything else will be taken care of."

She blushed. It all seemed so formal. Shifting her hips, she squirmed in her seat, wanting to be near him. Lucius wrapped his arm over her shoulders. The electricity of his touch went deep into her chest.

"Do I sign a contract or … a waiver?" she breathed out.

His answer was quick, "No." It was as though he'd considered the possibility of her asking him that. "There is no need. I only need your consent. I told you, you are free to walk away and you are free to halt anything with one word. Why would we need a contract for that?"

She stared into the bottomless gray pools of his eyes. His lips moved closer and Hermione closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. But he didn't. When she opened her eyes again, he was simply watching her. The hand around her shoulders swept downward, gently and deliberately, grazing down her back. He must have noticed how its low back had forbidden a bra, how his touch had affected her through the thin fabric.

He kissed her neck, so lightly Hermione wasn't certain it happened, then he released her. She stared at the flames of the candlesticks on the table, unable to face him. She crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table, not wanting to be deprived of his touches. It frustrated her that he should leave her wanting more. Feeling bold, she let one hand wander under the table to his lap, running it idly along his thigh. He tensed and Hermione smiled, wanting to provoke him more. When she dared to look at him, she saw the incinerating fire in his perpetually frozen eyes. Then she felt him. He was already hard and heavy under her hand. She splayed her fingers over him, shuddering when she felt him swell more.

Her mind took flight of its own and she childishly wondered if it hurt to become aroused. It appeared phenomenal that some soft part of him should increase so much in its natural size. Her fingers trailed higher on his clothed erection. The length of him was longer than the whole of her hand.

The waiter reappeared and she snatched her hand back, holding back a gasp. She hadn't even seen him coming. He sat down a dish of pale steaks in some sort of whipped custard. He left once more and instead of focusing on her food, Hermione's hand returned back to his inseam. She ought to have left him alone, but every sensible thought in her mind abandoned her. He was no longer still. He grasped her roughly against his flank and didn't let go.

His cheek rasped against hers as he spoke, "You are headstrong. Be careful what you start lest you don't intend to finish."

He fed her a bite of their meal from his fork, the creamy custard melting away in her mouth as she chewed. His other hand moved to her knee and Hermione swallowed in alarm.

 _Oh, no! What had she done with her provocations?_

His hand went higher. He held her still, lifting another bite for her to eat, but she tasted nothing. The only sensation she was aware of was the dreadful ascent of his hand. His palm traveled under the soft silk. She wanted him, but still had her limit of public behavior. She wasn't going to let him, her feelings of propriety forbade it. Hermione drew her crossed legs even tighter, but he pried them apart without much effort. She wanted to move away, but he held her lower half still.

"Not here. Please," she whispered. Her heart battered against her chest.

His eyes flashed. "Didn't I tell you to be careful what you start?"

Her protestations immediately froze on her lips. His hand moved higher with each word he spoke, stopping just short of revealing her completely.

"Please, it's not that I object … it's that I'm not …" She shook her head, ashamed to admit. "I'm not…" Her voice trailed off again.

"Not wearing any knickers, Miss Granger?" Lucius supplied, winking at her.

Hermione gaped at him. "How did you guess?"

Leaning to her again, he whispered in her ear, "It wasn't a guess. Do you think it wasn't the first thing I noticed when you removed your coat?"

His fingers softly grazed along her swollen folds. Whatever words Hermione had had evaporated on her tongue as his fingers climbed higher to stroke her clit. Her eyes fell shut as she clenched her teeth to silence her moans. His hand moved in a rhythmic ellipse, giving her no mercy … no reprieve.

"I wanted to touch you then. To feel those perfect curves under my hand. To punish you for arousing such an obsession in me," he continued. His words chaotically echoed in her head, then vaporized in a sweet, heavy haze.

Lucius's hand pressed deeper and Hermione's hips rose reflexively to meet him.

"I saw you waiting for me. You probably thought I had changed my mind, didn't you? Probably hoped that I would make it easier for you to walk away … just like I did that first day you came to me. But I won't do it again. If you wish to be rid of me, you'll have to be the one to decide … and I intend to make it difficult."

Hermione's breaths were too shallow for her to respond. With a delicate touch, Lucius slid the length of his ring finger along her clit. Every fibre in her body tensed, then relaxed when he stopped. He replicated the sensation again. And again. Each time bringing Hermione closer and closer to her orgasm. Her vision fluctuated. The world swirled all around her, but Lucius was relentless in his ministrations.

"Please," she whimpered.

"Patience," he growled and slowed his rhythm before drawing away entirely.

She glowered at him, unable to believe his gall. She wanted to curse him.

 _So much for finishing what you start. The hypocrite!_

The waiter came by again. He cleared the plates and left small gold-foiled box on the table, revealing a pair of spherical, chocolate confections.

"Mr. Malfoy," he simpered, "the manager would like to thank you for visiting us again by sending you the chocolates with the most intriguing history. Would you care to hear about them?"

Hermione looked at the chocolates, resenting them for interrupting them. She fervently prayed that Lucius would send the overzealous waiter away.

"Of course," Lucius said. "We'd love to hear about them."

Without further ado, he resumed his covert caresses beneath the table. Hermione was not prepared for the surprise, and had to feign a cough to disguise her gasp.

"Excuse me," she mumbled and kicked his foot surreptitiously under the table.

Lucius's only response was to tighten the arm around her shoulders.

Pointing at the chocolates, the waiter continued, "These were first produced in Eliseev Imporium in St. Petersburg in 1865 to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Tsar Alexander II's coronation. However, it was rumored that he had them especially made to tempt his mistress, Katia Dolgorukova, to finally relinquish her maidenhead to him. She resisted his attentions for a long time, you see, and the tsar was single-mindedly determined to have her. The official story stands, of course, as their affair caused a great scandal at the time."

"Really? Why?" Hermione asked through clenched teeth, fighting the warm throb that was rapidly building within her.

"She was more than a mistress. The tsar fell madly in love with her and morganatically married her only a month after his wife's death. It broke the customs of the Orthodox Church. And of course, the tsar's grown children disapproved of him moving his mistress and their children into the palace when his wife was on her deathbed."

Throughout the waiter's tale, Lucius kept his head cocked in mock interest, all the while intensifying his attentions between her legs. Hermione struggled not to come apart at the seams. Hermione stared at him with pleading eyes, begging him to stop, but he ignored her.

"She was very young when she met the tsar, is that not so?" Lucius asked, his fingers insistently strumming at her clit.

"Oh, yes. she was only twelve when he first saw her," the waiter enthusiastically answered. "She hardly made an impression then. But their paths crossed again when she was sixteen on an official visit to her school, and well … the tsar went mad for her."

"Some women take a while to capture your attention, but when they do, madness ensues," Lucius remarked, looking at Hermione as he pressed his fingers right against her g-spot.

"Oh, yes," Hermione gasped as a monstrous wave of pleasure overtook her and rolled through her body. Her head fell against Lucius's shoulder until the throbbing ceased.

"Is madame unwell?" the waiter asked.

"No," Lucius said, tucking wayward strands of her behind her ear. "She is very well. Thank you."

Finally, he dismissed the man and allowed Hermione to relax. Her heart continued to gallop in her chest.

"You. So bad," was all she managed to say.

"Judging by your response, I'd say I was so good."

It was mortifying to have to climax in public, in front of a stranger! It was downright blasphemous.

Lucius caught her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Hermione fought the urge to kiss him back, but let him take his fill. His lips were by far the most enticing, decadent thing she'd tasted all night. He kissed her again and she kissed him back this time, savoring the taste of him, wanting to keep him there as long as possible. Kissing Lucius Malfoy was quickly becoming an addiction itself.

He smiled insidiously when they pulled apart. "Dessert, Miss Granger?" Picking up one of the chocolates from the box, he held it up to her before returning his mouth to her throat with a vampiric vigor. When his hand moved back to her pussy. She welcomed him, feeling no panic or embarrassment this time.

"You have been very good today. You've earned your reward." Lucius rolled the round chocolate over her lips. She opened her mouth and he slipped in the chocolate at the same moment he slipped two of his fingers deep inside her. He moved them smoothly and tirelessly along that special spot that caused the blood to bubble within her veins, applying just the right amount of pressure. The pad of his thumb moved to massage her clit, igniting Hermione's entire network of nerves. She swallowed her moans along with the candy, as series of swelling waves struck her again.

 _The little death_ again. Lucius Malfoy managed to kill another part of her. How long can she last with him in Rome if he keeps on this homicidal rampage? Except she was addicted and wanted more. So much more.

He didn't say a word, just watched her as she caught her breath. Then he kissed her temple and pulled his fingers away.

"How was your dessert?" he smugly asked licking the chocolate from his fingertip.

"It wasn't as good as the rest of the meal," she tartly replied, suppressing a giggle.

"Oh, and why is that?" he asked, signing a slip of paper under the box.

Hermione tugged down the hem of her dress, smiling slyly. "It wasn't very filling. I am still craving more."

He smirked. "I disagree. I think it was very filling."

Her brows furrowed in confusion and she looked down at the box. It was empty. What happened to the other chocolate?

"So you ate yours too?" she asked.

He smacked his lips, looking at the hand that touched her, and shook his head. "I'm saving mine for later. If you don't object."

Hermione looked down at her lap, flushing furiously at the realization. Her knees nearly knocked together.

"You didn't …"

Lucius winked at her, before rising and offering her his hand.

She took his hand.

"What next, Miss Granger?" he asked, quizzically raising an eyebrow at her.

"It'll be a shame for you not to have you dessert," Hermione teased him.

"And?"

"And I need to start learning Italian."

" _Dammi un bacio,_ " he said in Italian.

"What does that mean?" she asked,

Lucius kissed her greedily in response. His scent … it was so familiar now … so crisp and intoxicating that she didn't want to pull away from him even for a split second. He slowly pulled back, running his thumb over her lower lip.

"And that's all the Italian you're getting for tonight," Lucius declared. "I need my dessert before it melts."

She laughed, but quickly covered up her mouth. He took her hand away and held it in his.

"Don't do that," he gently commanded. "You have a beautiful laugh. You shouldn't hide it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." She paused. "I still have a lot of questions, but I suppose they can wait."

He wrapped his arm around her as they began to slowly make their way towards the entrance. As they collected their coats, Hermione pulled him back to her.

"Thank you for this. It's been the best Valentine's Day I ever had," she said, brimming with gratitude.

He stared deep into her eyes before speaking, "No, thank _you_."

Thus, with another kiss, Hermione's own private renaissance began.


End file.
